When You Walk On By
by redtrouble
Summary: A one-shot centered around John and Claire concerning the Monday after detention.


John Bender had been told he was many things in life—some of which he denied, others in which he could only hope weren't true. He had been labeled stupid, lazy, worthless, delinquent, bum, bastard, retard, ugly, criminal—the list went on and on. One thing John had never been accused of being, however, was blind. And he was anything but, because the moment he had walked into that detention hall and saw that richie with her red hair, pale skin, pouty lips, and slim frame sitting there so prim and awkward and slightly intimidated by her predicament, he wanted her.

He wanted her bad.

And he hated her at the same time. A stuck-up, manicured princess like her was never going to give him a second thought. All she cared about was shopping, being popular, expensive cars, and being voted prom queen. For the following chunk of time, he had been determined to flirt with her, hurt her, scandalize her, and make her look at him. She had become his new, favorite toy for the day.

His grandmaster plan, however, hadn't turned out the way he had just known—beyond a shadow of doubt—that it would. He had been so sure she would hate him, look down on him, and push him away. He had prepared for that. But she hadn't done those things he expected. In fact, part of her, he was sure, was intrigued by him. Girls liked flirting with the bad boy, right? And somehow they had spent most of their time in detention near each other. The longer the day progressed, the closer they'd become, until they were almost touching. Like they were magnets being drawn together, full of denial and loathing and mystery.

But he just knew that her flirty smile was a product of her momentary curiosity of the bad boy. Even as the five of them sat together and poured their hearts out in bonding conversation, he knew she meant it when she said that on Monday everything would go back to normal. Sure, she had been looking at Allison, answering Allison's question, but deep down inside he knew that she was talking about him. She would ignore him, cut him up with her friends, and his existence wouldn't even matter to her. And he hated her for it. He had known that it was true from the beginning but he still hated her for it, because the whole day he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her and, along the way, he thought he could maybe even like her. Except that she was a stuck-up bitch and he knew it.

So when she looked at him and said, "what about you?", he had not been able to stop verbally hitting her to spare himself the inevitable and complete rejection that he saw in her eyes the first time she looked at him. She wanted to know about bad boys, he would fucking show her a bad boy! And she cried and he felt shitty because he wanted to do something else with her that had nothing to do with cruel words, but she had already made her choice. She had everything and he had nothing. She had her little experience with the bad boy, and he would walk away empty-handed. Because princesses fell for princes, not poor, grungy knaves.

John rolled over in bed to look at the ceiling. The birds were chirping out his window as he reminisced on last Saturday's detention and wallowed in his apprehension for school that day. A very strong part of him wanted to blow it off, lay in bed, sleep, forget the anxious knot the size of a grapefruit that had taken up residence in his stomach. The other part of him knew he was going to get out of that bed and prepare for what would possibly be the best or worst moment of his entire life.

Because she had made her choice, all right. When that closet door opened and he saw her standing there with a hint of a smile she suppressed and that serious, determined look in her eyes, he had felt so surprised and so elated and so forgiven that he actually forgave her, too. Because when that closet door opened and he saw _her_ _standing_ _there_, he didn't know what to fucking say. This moment hadn't figured into his plan at all. "You lost?" he said when he remembered he needed to speak. She just stared at him, and he knew that look anywhere. It was guarded and, at the same time, slightly vulnerable. It was coy, hinting at some plan. She was there for a reason, and he knew it wasn't to hate him. He gave her a teasing grin, because he still couldn't believe this would turn out well. But she kissed him, and when they spoke, she stared at his mouth the whole time. He had asked her once if she had ever kissed a boy. Whether she had or not, she clearly wanted to at that moment. He would've kissed her, but he was scared of what it would never mean to her. John Bender was fucking scared.

_No, no, no_, he thought as he pulled a pillow down to cover his face. He wasn't _scared_. He could've used her if he wanted to. It's just he didn't want to. He kind of liked Cherry. He wanted to give her a chance to not be a bitch.

John reached under the pillow and touched the earring she'd given him. It was a marker. A claim. She claimed him for hers. It was like an advertisement. Sure, probably no one would notice the single diamond in his ear; even if they did, would they make the connection? Unlikely. But even if they did, even if they noticed the earring in his ear, noticed her missing diamond, made the connection, they still wouldn't know the reason. Not the real reason. They wouldn't know how a diamond stud could become priceless to a poor criminal like John, or how significant it was for a rich princess like Claire to give it up. It should have been valuable to him because of its value, not because it was a gift from her. He should be able to pawn it and drink the night away in temporary rich bliss, but he hadn't been able to even take it off. For her, it should've been significant because she'd given it to a low-life, no-good criminal like John, not because she had come to value him and care for him.

The earring was full of potential worth, and in a few hours, he would come to know just how much worth it really did have. And how much worth he had. Because he'd been told he was worthless, but Claire's gesture had said the opposite.

And then he kissed her, and she kissed him back, and it was sweet and electric and soft and she tasted amazing. He had leaned into her, regretting not kissing her in that closet where he could've kissed her all he wanted and touched her and pulled her into him and let her know what it was like to really be kissed. And then it was over and she was driving away and he wondered if she had hated it, loved it, wanted more, regretted the whole thing. If nothing else, he had given a cherry princess a real kiss and she had given him a diamond earring, and for just one moment in time the world had turned upside down.

He pushed the pillow off of his head and pretended he wasn't grinning like an idiot. Because he was. He was a big fucking idiot. Because when they walked down the hall that morning, he knew she would walk on by and never meet his eyes.

...

Claire Standish applied her make-up especially careful that morning and styled her hair to no less than perfection. The clothes she slipped into had been laboriously chosen the night before. She wanted to look cuter than she ever had before. For him. She wanted to look like the princess he kept calling her. For John. When she looked into the mirror to give the final approval of her appearance, she laughed at herself. It had just occurred to her that she was dressing up for John Bender. She was making sure there wasn't a wrinkle in her clothes, a hair on her head out of place, a streak of make-up slightly smudged—and for what? For John fucking Bender. And the truth was that he didn't care, because when he woke up that morning, he would dress in old cargos, flannels, a big overcoat, and ratty boots.

When he had first walked into detention, she had been repulsed. A delinquent sharing a space with her? She tried not to look at him, but she could see his wardrobe in her peripherals. He didn't necessarily look dirty, but his clothes were worn. She imagined he smelled like old sweat, body oil, and musty closets. It made her crinkle her nose at the idea. Later, when she really looked at him, she noticed how soft and clean his long hair looked. Maybe he wasn't as dirty as she thought. And when he leaned in close to tease her about being a virgin, she could smell cigarettes, deodorant, and something else; it wasn't a bad something else, but it was distinctive. Distinctively John.

Claire looked at the pair of earrings she had chosen for her outfit—dangly ones with colorful gems—and plucked the left one up, fit it into the hole, and secured it in place. She touched her right lobe where the diamond stud remained. She wouldn't take it off, not even for style. It would be proof that she meant it when she gave him that other earring.

Her stomach was a bundle of nerves at the thought of seeing him again, but she was excited, too. The things he had said to her that Saturday—the flirtatious quips meant to make her squirm under her skin, embarrass her, and maybe even scare her—had made her curious. _Are you a virgin, Claire?_ He had said it so scandalously, as though he could do something about it if she were. The scenarios he had described of being felt up and making out should have made her sick to her stomach, but it had actually made her heart beat hard. She imagined it as he said it, and she imagined it was him doing those things to her. She didn't want to imagine him, but such was the charisma of John Bender; he held her gaze so intensely that she couldn't escape and his voice was deep and penetrating until it filled up her mind. _Claire_, he said in her head as he ran his hand up into her shirt and kissed her. She was wide-eyed staring back at him and positive she was blushing.

Claire shook her head, trying to shake out the ideas her reminiscing was putting in her head. But she couldn't get them out. What if when they met at school, he _did_ do those things he whispered about? She remembered his gaze, remembered how dark and heated it had been. Sometimes he really looked like he hated her—and that was a look she had anticipated—but most of the time he looked at her in a completely different way. It took her awhile to realize that it was desire she saw in him. And he had transferred that desire to her. Suddenly, the idea of kissing a boy, of letting him put his tongue in her mouth, of letting him put his hands on her—suddenly it didn't seem so bad. Instead, it seemed rather good. But it had to be him. His face and hands and body were the only ones she could imagine touching her.

Claire pulled on her coat and wrapped it tight around herself as if locking in all of her secret desires of intimacy. She went down to her father's car and rode the way to school in silence, growing more and more nervous by the second. What if it had all been a part of his bad boy plan? Seduce the "princess" virgin and dump her in front of the whole school? Would he humiliate her when she came up to him that day? Would he brag about her boldness when she joined him in the closet? Would he proclaim his conquest as he kissed her in the parking lot? Claire shook her head again to rid herself of those kinds of thoughts. He had looked at her like he wanted her. John Bender was many things, but an actor wasn't one of them. She hoped.

When she got out of her father's car, she headed straight for her locker to hang up her coat and fish out the books she would need. She kept looking around her, wondering if she would see him—see John—or anyone from the Breakfast Club. Andy soon appeared with his arm around Allison. When they all locked eyes, the couple froze and waited. Allison, with a frown, lifted her hand and waved. Claire smiled and waved back. Allison gave one of her lopsided grins and waved more distinctly. Andy nodded in Claire's direction and she threw a "hey" back at him.

"Who was that?" one of her girlfriends asked as she came up to Claire's locker, eyeing Andy and Allison as they walked off.

"Allison Reynolds," Claire replied.

"Who?"

But it wasn't a question the girl seemed to really care about being answered and soon she was chattering on about all the gossip generated by Stubby's party that weekend. Claire laughed and shut her locker, feeling somehow freer from the restraints of peer pressure that had once brainwashed her to fear defiance and individuality.

...

John thrust his hands in the pockets of his long, gray coat as he stomped up to Shermer High, scoping out the crowd through his sunglasses. No sign of Claire. He was so distracted that he almost missed his friends cutting up by the stairs. He headed over, made a few smart ass remarks, and then stomped into the building with the group in tow.

Brian came out of the stairwell and jerked in a sudden stop when he saw him. He nodded, said hey, and John could feel the eyes of his friends on him. _You are a bitch!_ He had yelled at Claire. _You know how shitty that is to do to someone and you don't have the balls to stand up to your friends! _John slapped Brian's hand and hooked his sunglasses on the collar of the nerd's sweatshirt.

"How's it going?" John said.

"You know, just hanging out." He leaned back on the doorframe, playing it cool. "I'm going to try remaking that elephant for a better grade."

"You need any pointers, I could, you know, _tutor_ you." John smirked and Brian laughed, waved, and walked away.

...

Claire was walking down the hall with her girlfriends when she saw John gathered with his friends, chatting. He laughed and her stomach did a flip. He glanced around and saw her. They locked eyes and, for a moment, she couldn't even remember putting one foot in front of the other. What was about to happen? Then she noticed the diamond earring in his ear and smiled.

...

John saw her surrounded by her usual entourage and prepared for the inevitable. She was looking at him, sure, but in a moment she was going to look away and continue chirping with her girlfriends. But then she smiled and tucked her hair behind one ear. Opposite the dangly earring she wore was the diamond stud. John smiled, too. Her friends noticed and stared at him. His friends stopped talking, probably wondering what the hell was about to happen. But they were smiling at each other, and he didn't care about anything else.

And as she walked on by, she called his name. "John," she greeted him. It was her public claim, opening the door for him. But she had struck first, and he liked that.

"_Claire_," he said in that teasing way he spoke her name.

...

She bit her lower lip as she walked on. Then someone hooked a finger into her blouse and pulled her back. John was smirking at her.

"Claire," he said again. "Did you dress up for me today?"

"Did you?" she asked, lightly tapping the diamond earring he wore.

"Only the best for the princess."

"You're a tease," she said.

"Only if what I do gets you hot."

Claire leaned toward him and smiled. "Well." She couldn't help but look at his mouth and remember the kiss he'd given her. "You're a tease."

"Well," he mimicked her, "we can fix that, Cherry."

And then he kissed her.


End file.
